"Lose that distillery, and your parents can roll over in their graves."
I stared at the man in front of me, then slapped him hard across the face. "Conrad Graves, you don't deserve to be called human."
He didn't dodge. He worked his jaw once, slowly. "Tracey, every time you're lying under me like a good little girl, I think about that accident thirteen years ago. I never asked your father to save me. His bad luck, not mine."
"If that slap helps you blow off steam, I'll take it."
I glared at him through burning eyes, sick with how unfair it was for my parents.
They'd doted on him. Anything I had, they set aside the same for him—sometimes better.
Hatred flooded my skull. I swung at him again.
This time he stepped back.
I stumbled forward with the momentum, pitching sideways.
A drilling pain shot through my ankle.
He moved to help me up, but Desiree got there first, grabbing my arm.
Her long acrylic nails dug deep into my flesh. I bared my teeth against the pain and shoved her away on instinct.
She let herself fall backward, crying out in a thin, helpless voice.
Her eyes went red, and she sniffled, voice shaking. "Tracey, I know you don't like me. I can leave. I can disappear from your life. But why did you have to push me?"
Conrad frowned, shoved me aside, and pulled her into his arms like she was the one who'd been wronged. "Enough! Tracey Simmons—you hit me, you got it out of your system. Don't you dare take it out on someone who has nothing to do with this."
"If your father hadn't died, I never would've married you. For all you know, you'd be the other woman right now."
That line detonated the crowd:
"Holy shit—what a bombshell. I thought Mr. Graves and his wife were the real deal. Turns out it was all a lie."
"So Desiree Fox was his real woman this whole time? Back in the old days, Tracey Simmons wouldn't even rank as a concubine."
They tore me apart without a shred of restraint, and Conrad didn't so much as blink.
I sank to the floor, tears falling heavy and fast.
Something like guilt flickered through Conrad's eyes. He opened his mouth, but Desiree caught his arm before a word came out.
"Conrad, the ceremony's about to start. Can you get her out of here?"
He let the woman's coaxing pull his gaze away, and he gave himself entirely to the wedding.
I dragged myself up and staggered toward the door.
Behind me, Conrad called out, almost impatient.
"Get your stuff out of the villa. Desiree sees it tonight, she'll throw a fit—girl's a handful when she's jealous."
I stopped mid-step. My throat felt packed with cotton, and it took everything I had to force out a single word: "Fine."
Back at the house, I had just finished packing when Conrad walked in carrying Desiree.
The moment she spotted me, she buried her face against his chest and whined. "Conrad, why is she still here? How humiliating…"
He kissed her forehead and smiled, indulgent. "What are you worried about? You're my real wife now."
Desiree's cheeks flushed pink, and she ducked her head, voice dropping to a murmur. "Conrad, I just realized we don't have any condoms at home…"
He blinked, then transferred me money without a second thought.
Same note as every other time.
This wasn't the first time.
Before, when he and his little lover were going at it in the middle of the night, one phone call was all it took to send me out to buy them.
He'd even made me put one on him with my own hands.
But now I'd made up my mind to divorce him.
Why should I still do a damn thing for him?
I ignored the transfer, grabbed my suitcase, and left.
By the next morning, every one of the distillery's partners was demanding to pull their money.
I picked up the phone and called to find out why.
